My friend Jon and I had a gym date. The idea was that if I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think. And if I couldn't think, I couldn't cry. I parked my Saturn across the street from Jon's duplex, and flipped down the visor to check my reflection. Mascara was smudged from the corners of my eyes to my temples. I wasn't sure how long it had been there. I pulled a tissue from my purse and blotted the make up away. I popped the trunk and dug through two suitcases and an overnight bag before finally yanking out a pair of purple sneakers.
I made my way to the front door and rang the bell twice before realizing it didn't work. A black cat appeared, and nuzzled my ankles as I rapped on the door. Jon opened the door with a phone pressed to his ear.
"Mhmm. Mhmm. No." He motioned for me to come in, mouthed, "Sorry, be right back," and promptly disappeared into the kitchen. There was another guy sitting on the sofa, tuning a guitar. I stood in the doorway awkwardly for a moment before plopping down in a worn leather recliner, curling my knees in and hugging them tight. Couch Guy looked up, and I realized he was someone I knew. Or knew of. He'd been a couple years behind me in school, and worked at a local ice cream parlor with one of my best friends. I searched my brain for his name and came up blank.
"Hey," he said.
"Hi." I wished I'd worn something besides beat up yoga pants and a worn out hoodie. And then I felt instantly guilty. What business did I have caring what another man thought of my outfit? After all, my wedding bands were still firmly on my left hand. I couldn't yet bear the thought of taking them off. I twirled my engagement ring round my finger and said something, anything to mask my discomfort. "I didn't know you played guitar." Seriously? Seriously. Way to talk to a total stranger, Carrie. Now you sound like a creep. Or a stalker. A creepy stalker.
He looked at me with confusion for a moment. "Uh, yeah," he said, and then proceeded to do me the greatest kindness in the world by filling the silence with idle conversation until Jon reappeared and whisked me away. I tried my best to convey my gratitude with a smile as I ducked out the door. If there's one thing I did not need to feel on that chilly, October morning, it was more embarrassment. I had been so defeated and humiliated in the past few days that another ounce of shame would have been crushing.
---
Since Kyle was deployed to Afghanistan shortly after leaving me, our divorce was stretched over a tediously long year. Our household goods from Germany (read: everything I owned, save what came with me to Kentucky on the plane) were held up in storage until after he returned from deployment. This meant two things. First, I was forced to spend around 9 months with an empty apartment, sleeping on a mattress and cooking in borrowed kitchen ware. Second, I was unable to sign divorce papers, as we'd never been able to divide our assets.
Needless to say, when he finally returned to his base in New York, we were both more than ready to split our belongings and have some closure. He arranged to have the whole truckload of our things sent to me via U-Haul. I would go through everything and pull out what I wanted, and he'd pick up whatever I wanted to leave him when he had leave to come to Kentucky.
So, one day last fall, he arrived to pick up the boxes I'd deemed "his."
I'd like to tell you that after a year apart I was completely unaffected by him. I'd like to tell you that I didn't notice an enormous weight drop from my heart when I could see with my own eyes that he was unscathed by his deployment. I'd like to tell you that I didn't falter, remembering the way I'd run into his arms so many times after so many long separations. I'd like to tell you I handed him his things and promptly slammed the door in his face.
But this is my blog. My safe place. And here I have to be honest.
So the truth is... The truth is that it took every last drop of my strength to hold back a fresh flood of tears. The truth is that I kept my arms folded as he carried away his things. I didn't offer to help, because I didn't trust how I might feel if our fingers brushed. The truth is, I could feel my heart pounding from my toes to my temples the entire time he was near me.
I open the door, and he smiles, and I don't know how, but I keep my cool.
"Well, you look good," he says. I wasn't prepared for this. I wasn't prepared for...nice. Our last face to face encounter wasn't exactly friendly. I can feel my cheeks flush. I look away.
"Thanks," I say. "The...um. Your things are over there." I gesture across the room and move out of the way. He makes quick work of loading the boxes into his Jeep, but when he reaches the front door with the last one, he stops.
"Did you..." he pauses, turns around. "Did you want to talk, or something?"
Please. "It doesn't matter," I try my best to seem indifferent. "Whatever you want."
"Okay. Let me just put this in the car and I'll come back. Okay?"
"Yeah, that's fine."
I rub my damp hands on my jeans and sit on the sofa. Try to regain composure. I wasn't prepared for this. I want him to leave. I never want him to leave. I think I should tell him to leave. But it's no use. From the moment he walks back into my apartment, I know I won't let him go without giving me answers. I can't.
He sits awkwardly on the opposite end of the sofa. We talk slowly at first, cautiously. And then, without our noticing, we begin to laugh. I start to smile. I tuck my feet up beneath me, and we settle in to catch up on a year's worth of stories. I am in awe at how easily we remember how to be together.
---
It's freezing to be so early in Autumn. Brianne and Ryan and I hurry across the parking lot to the theater. We're going to see Cloud Atlas. We wait in line for three sodas and a giant bucket of popcorn to share, and choose seats high up in the back. It's a weeknight, so there aren't many other people here. We joke and laugh until the movie starts. Brianne and I dominate the conversation. I've been away so long that even after a month being back in Kentucky, she's still catching me up on all the moments I missed at home.
"I feel like a third wheel," Ryan says, and we laugh.
"That's cause you kinda are," I tell him, but I grin wide enough to let him know I'm only teasing.
The movie starts and we fall silent. I know in the fist five minutes that it will become a favorite. Halfway through, Ryan leans in to whisper something in my ear. I am so distracted by his breath on the side of my neck that I completely miss the comment.
"Hmm?" I whisper back, but even the second delivery is lost to me. I am adrift - completely thrown off kilter by the treacherous pricking of my skin.
---
Kyle and I have passed a half hour in conversation, and neither of us seem ready to part ways. At the next lull I offer him a hot chocolate.
"No, you don't have to do that," he says.
"I don't mind. I kind of want a mug of tea, myself." He agrees, and follows me to the kitchen. "Two packets, still?"
"Yeah," he says. He seems surprised I remember. As if I could forget.
I fill a tea kettle with water and put it on the stove. I tell him about my job, and he tells me about his new friends at his new post. Somewhere between a story about a party and one about a speeding ticket, I fall silent. I've realized he's telling me about a life I was meant to be a part of. He tactfully fills my silence while I pull down two mugs and fill them with steaming water. I drop a packet of tea into mine, and hand him a spoon so he can stir in his hot chocolate mix. He tells me his sister is doing well. I tell him I miss her. I miss her so much.
I sip my tea until it's gone. Our time is running out, but I don't know how to ask what I want to know. I open my mouth to speak, but before I can my stomach growls.
"Sorry," I lunch. "It was a long day. I haven't had time for lunch."
He looks at his watch. "It's 7:00."
I shrug.
"What do you want?"
"What do you mean?"
"What do you want to eat?"
"I...what?"
"Come on, we'll go get something."
I should refuse. I wonder how much of this story I'll have to tell Ryan before he starts to hate me. We've talked longer than we should already.
"Let me get my coat."
"No, you don't have to do that," he says.
"I don't mind. I kind of want a mug of tea, myself." He agrees, and follows me to the kitchen. "Two packets, still?"
"Yeah," he says. He seems surprised I remember. As if I could forget.
I fill a tea kettle with water and put it on the stove. I tell him about my job, and he tells me about his new friends at his new post. Somewhere between a story about a party and one about a speeding ticket, I fall silent. I've realized he's telling me about a life I was meant to be a part of. He tactfully fills my silence while I pull down two mugs and fill them with steaming water. I drop a packet of tea into mine, and hand him a spoon so he can stir in his hot chocolate mix. He tells me his sister is doing well. I tell him I miss her. I miss her so much.
I sip my tea until it's gone. Our time is running out, but I don't know how to ask what I want to know. I open my mouth to speak, but before I can my stomach growls.
"Sorry," I lunch. "It was a long day. I haven't had time for lunch."
He looks at his watch. "It's 7:00."
I shrug.
"What do you want?"
"What do you mean?"
"What do you want to eat?"
"I...what?"
"Come on, we'll go get something."
I should refuse. I wonder how much of this story I'll have to tell Ryan before he starts to hate me. We've talked longer than we should already.
"Let me get my coat."
---
It's late November. It's been two months since Kyle left, and two months since I met Ryan. He's become something of a confidant. In the past two months, I've discovered that I'm not the only human being ever to have their heart broken. In Ryan, I've found someone who understands how unstable I feel. How hurt and free and panicked and haphazard. We're alone at Jon and Kylie's apartment. Since I'm between homes, and Ryan and Jon are practically family, we both spend a lot of time here. We're sharing a blanket on the couch, not watching Survivorman navigate the amazon. Instead, we're talking about our friends. We're laughing at jokes that aren't funny. And then, suddenly, we're not talking at all.
Ryan is looking at me with an expression I haven't seen before, and it takes me a minute to realize he's struggling with what to say next. This surprises me. We've never had a problem talking. In fact, I sometimes joke that we've carried on a single, extraordinarily long conversation for the two months since we met. We fall asleep only when one of us gives in and texts goodnight, and awake to continue whatever discussion we were having the night before.
"What is it?" I ask, though I'm sure I've worked it out already.
"Nothing." He looks away, makes some comment about Survivorman's gear.
"Tell me."
"No."
"Tell me."
He sighs.
"It's just... Is this... a thing? Because I feel like it's becoming a thing."
I decide to play dumb. "What kind of thing? What do you mean?"
"Nothing. Nevermind."
I'm laughing before I can say, "I don't know, I mean, I think I kinda like you." I fain just enough uncertainty so that he knows I'm serious.
"For a second there I thought I'd totally misjudged this."
"You didn't." A burst of courage spills across my chest and before I can change my mind, I slide my fingers across his.
"You are trying to hold my hand," he whispers.
"You want me to," I whisper back. He squeezes my fingers to show me I'm right. I have no idea where my confidence came from. As we turn our attention back to the television, I feel light enough to float away. I lean my head on Ryan's shoulder instead. I can feel him smile. I know I'm not ready for this, but I can't bring myself to care.
It's quiet in the Jeep as Kyle drives us to the restaurant. He's turned down the radio, tired of advertisements.
"Are you sure this isn't weird?" I ask.
"I'm sure. I think after the year I've had, taking you to dinner will be easy."
"Okay."
If this were any other trip we've ever taken together, I'd have my hand at the back of his neck. I'd trace circles in his hair while he drove. But this isn't any other trip, and I'm painfully aware of that. Half way there, and I'm having second thoughts. As we pull into the parking lot, I'm wishing we hadn't come.
But I'm determined to ask one question. I will not be left wondering again.
We sit opposite each other at a booth in a crowed restaurant, making small talk. I tear a roll into tiny pieces. He seems to know what's on my mind.
"Ask me anything you want to know. I probably owe you that much."
"Do you regret it at all?"
"Sometimes. Most of the time I just try to not think about it."
I nod.
"Why did you do it?"
He pauses a moment, then says, "Where would we be if I hadn't? You'd be miserable in New York. You'd still be putting off school. You wouldn't have a job you like."
"That's probably true, but it wasn't your decision to make." But I know he's right. In the past year I've come to see how much we held each other back.
"I just. I needed to be alone for a while, I think. I'm not the kind of man I want to be. And figuring that out is something I have to do on my own."
We change the topic for a bit, neither of us wanting to get bogged down in the past. Then he surprises me. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For everything. I'm not proud of the way I acted, okay? It wasn't fair to you. I'm just sorry."
I think about the last few times we spoke. In all honesty, the cruelty and abruptness of it was what pushed me to move on quickly. To become someone stronger, braver. I would have fought for our marriage for the rest of my life, had it not been so apparent that the man I married was already gone.
"It's okay. I'm okay." Abruptly, I remember something he told me once. "I guess you were right all along. Love is just a choice. I didn't think I'd get over you. I didn't think I could. But one day I just decided I couldn't cry anymore. So I stopped. And now I'm fine."
It's late. Too late. So late that my eyes are sliding shut even as I try and answer Ryan's last question. We're talking in low voices so that we don't wake our friends sleeping in other rooms of the apartment. We lay opposite each other on the couch, heads in the middle, feet propped on arm rests, staring at the ceiling. I let my sentence trail away unfinished.
"Are you falling asleep on me?" My eyes snap open at Ryan's question. I feel him turn his head to look at me.
"No," I say quickly. "Of course not." But it's no use. I have no idea what I had been saying.
"I don't believe you."
I just grin. We stay silent for a moment before I sleepily ask, "Do you think we're rushing things?" We're definitely rushing things.
"Probably. But at least we're honest about it."
"I guess. I don't know. But I know I'm happy when I'm with you."
"Me too." I'm suddenly aware of how close are faces are. I can feel the warmth from his cheek next to mine, though we're not touching. I roll my head to the side. I can see the profile of his face against the glow of the television, and then it disappears as he turns to look at me, too. Our faces are upside down, nose to nose, and my heart is pounding. I realize I'm wide awake.
"Are you still determined not to kiss me? Because I think I'd let you right now." I ask, knowing full well what I'm really asking for is trouble.
"I think so," he says. "I don't want us to regret anything."
"I don't think I could regret anything with you. I like you too much." But I know what he means. I know what he's afraid of. Both of us are still raw with fresh heartache. Too much too fast is a recipe for disaster, and we know we have the potential to be something more than a rebound. Neither of us wants to screw this up. We don't want to be hurt again, and we don't want to be what makes the the other ache.
He sighs.
"Listen. If you kiss me, and it doesn't work out, it'll just be a kiss. It'll be one wonderful, happy moment we shared. I'll get to keep that. I wouldn't hold it against you. I wouldn't regret it. But I don't want you to regret me, either. So I get it. I just...wanted to tell you." He stays quiet, and after a moment, my eyes start to feel heavy. They slide closed, and I listen to the sound of our breaths as they synchronize.
All at once I feel him move. Before I can open my eyes he's closed the space between us, and his lips are on mine, and the world is standing still. I am surprised by how much I want this -- how much I don't want this moment to end. After, as I fall asleep, a stupid smile is glued on my face. My last thought is to wonder how I'll feel in the morning.
Our ride back to my apartment is mostly silent. When we arrive, Kyle follows me into the living room, and picks up one last item to load in the Jeep. It's a framed cross-stitch his mother made the year we were married. I'd almost forgotten it, tucked away in a box of paintings I don't have room to hang in my tiny home.
My heartbeat is heavy in my ears. I am fascinated by a scuff on my left boot. Was that there this morning? I am too distracted by my boot to feel anything, let alone something inappropriate, like sadness.
Kyle turns to leave, but halfway to the door he stops. Silently, he puts the cross stitch on the sofa. He sighs, and his shoulders sag a little. He doesn't turn to look at me. Not yet.
Maybe I scuffed my boot when I tripped on the phone cord at work. I'm such a clutz.
A moment passes. It's long enough to contain ten lifetimes. Kyle turns to look at me. His jaw is set, At first I think he's angry, but then I meet his gaze, and I know better. Even after all this time, I know the language of his eyes.
He holds out his arms, and without hesitation, I step into them. I had forgotten how well I fit here, but my body hasn't. I nestle my cheek instinctively into his chest. His arms are firm around my shoulders, and my fists knot together behind his back. Relief washes over me. Regardless of the circumstances, regardless of everything we've been through, I am so happy to know that he's still in there somewhere: my Kyle.
We step back in unison, and just like that, the moment is over. A thousand thoughts begin to form, but I shut them down quickly. If I follow "How did we..." or "Why can't we..." through to their conclusion, I will slide into a place I can't crawl out of. I watch him walk away, and I choke on all the things I cannot say to this man who is not my husband.
When Kyle is gone I feel a familiar hollowness in the pit of my stomach. It is the same empty ache I have felt many times before. Now, curled onto my sofa with my feet tucked under me, I am shocked by this pain. I thought this would be different - more final, somehow. Or perhaps less difficult. But it isn't. It is a perfect reflection of the way I felt when he left for basic training, when he boarded the plane to travel to his post in Germany, and when he carried away bags for trips to the field. It doesn't feel any less potent, and, most of all, it doesn't feel like the end, even though I know in my heart that it should be.
When the sun slips in through the windows and wakes us, Ryan pulls me close and tugs a blanket over my shoulders. My mind flickers to the night before, a kiss in the dim television glow, and my cheeks flush. I grin up at him, wondering how it's possible to feel so happy after having been hurt so very much. And that's when I know how wrong I've been: This part of my life isn't an ending, after all. This is the beginning.
Ryan is looking at me with an expression I haven't seen before, and it takes me a minute to realize he's struggling with what to say next. This surprises me. We've never had a problem talking. In fact, I sometimes joke that we've carried on a single, extraordinarily long conversation for the two months since we met. We fall asleep only when one of us gives in and texts goodnight, and awake to continue whatever discussion we were having the night before.
"What is it?" I ask, though I'm sure I've worked it out already.
"Nothing." He looks away, makes some comment about Survivorman's gear.
"Tell me."
"No."
"Tell me."
He sighs.
"It's just... Is this... a thing? Because I feel like it's becoming a thing."
I decide to play dumb. "What kind of thing? What do you mean?"
"Nothing. Nevermind."
I'm laughing before I can say, "I don't know, I mean, I think I kinda like you." I fain just enough uncertainty so that he knows I'm serious.
"For a second there I thought I'd totally misjudged this."
"You didn't." A burst of courage spills across my chest and before I can change my mind, I slide my fingers across his.
"You are trying to hold my hand," he whispers.
"You want me to," I whisper back. He squeezes my fingers to show me I'm right. I have no idea where my confidence came from. As we turn our attention back to the television, I feel light enough to float away. I lean my head on Ryan's shoulder instead. I can feel him smile. I know I'm not ready for this, but I can't bring myself to care.
---
It's quiet in the Jeep as Kyle drives us to the restaurant. He's turned down the radio, tired of advertisements.
"Are you sure this isn't weird?" I ask.
"I'm sure. I think after the year I've had, taking you to dinner will be easy."
"Okay."
If this were any other trip we've ever taken together, I'd have my hand at the back of his neck. I'd trace circles in his hair while he drove. But this isn't any other trip, and I'm painfully aware of that. Half way there, and I'm having second thoughts. As we pull into the parking lot, I'm wishing we hadn't come.
But I'm determined to ask one question. I will not be left wondering again.
We sit opposite each other at a booth in a crowed restaurant, making small talk. I tear a roll into tiny pieces. He seems to know what's on my mind.
"Ask me anything you want to know. I probably owe you that much."
"Do you regret it at all?"
"Sometimes. Most of the time I just try to not think about it."
I nod.
"Why did you do it?"
He pauses a moment, then says, "Where would we be if I hadn't? You'd be miserable in New York. You'd still be putting off school. You wouldn't have a job you like."
"That's probably true, but it wasn't your decision to make." But I know he's right. In the past year I've come to see how much we held each other back.
"I just. I needed to be alone for a while, I think. I'm not the kind of man I want to be. And figuring that out is something I have to do on my own."
We change the topic for a bit, neither of us wanting to get bogged down in the past. Then he surprises me. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For everything. I'm not proud of the way I acted, okay? It wasn't fair to you. I'm just sorry."
I think about the last few times we spoke. In all honesty, the cruelty and abruptness of it was what pushed me to move on quickly. To become someone stronger, braver. I would have fought for our marriage for the rest of my life, had it not been so apparent that the man I married was already gone.
"It's okay. I'm okay." Abruptly, I remember something he told me once. "I guess you were right all along. Love is just a choice. I didn't think I'd get over you. I didn't think I could. But one day I just decided I couldn't cry anymore. So I stopped. And now I'm fine."
---
It's late. Too late. So late that my eyes are sliding shut even as I try and answer Ryan's last question. We're talking in low voices so that we don't wake our friends sleeping in other rooms of the apartment. We lay opposite each other on the couch, heads in the middle, feet propped on arm rests, staring at the ceiling. I let my sentence trail away unfinished.
"Are you falling asleep on me?" My eyes snap open at Ryan's question. I feel him turn his head to look at me.
"No," I say quickly. "Of course not." But it's no use. I have no idea what I had been saying.
"I don't believe you."
I just grin. We stay silent for a moment before I sleepily ask, "Do you think we're rushing things?" We're definitely rushing things.
"Probably. But at least we're honest about it."
"I guess. I don't know. But I know I'm happy when I'm with you."
"Me too." I'm suddenly aware of how close are faces are. I can feel the warmth from his cheek next to mine, though we're not touching. I roll my head to the side. I can see the profile of his face against the glow of the television, and then it disappears as he turns to look at me, too. Our faces are upside down, nose to nose, and my heart is pounding. I realize I'm wide awake.
"Are you still determined not to kiss me? Because I think I'd let you right now." I ask, knowing full well what I'm really asking for is trouble.
"I think so," he says. "I don't want us to regret anything."
"I don't think I could regret anything with you. I like you too much." But I know what he means. I know what he's afraid of. Both of us are still raw with fresh heartache. Too much too fast is a recipe for disaster, and we know we have the potential to be something more than a rebound. Neither of us wants to screw this up. We don't want to be hurt again, and we don't want to be what makes the the other ache.
He sighs.
"Listen. If you kiss me, and it doesn't work out, it'll just be a kiss. It'll be one wonderful, happy moment we shared. I'll get to keep that. I wouldn't hold it against you. I wouldn't regret it. But I don't want you to regret me, either. So I get it. I just...wanted to tell you." He stays quiet, and after a moment, my eyes start to feel heavy. They slide closed, and I listen to the sound of our breaths as they synchronize.
All at once I feel him move. Before I can open my eyes he's closed the space between us, and his lips are on mine, and the world is standing still. I am surprised by how much I want this -- how much I don't want this moment to end. After, as I fall asleep, a stupid smile is glued on my face. My last thought is to wonder how I'll feel in the morning.
---
Our ride back to my apartment is mostly silent. When we arrive, Kyle follows me into the living room, and picks up one last item to load in the Jeep. It's a framed cross-stitch his mother made the year we were married. I'd almost forgotten it, tucked away in a box of paintings I don't have room to hang in my tiny home.
My heartbeat is heavy in my ears. I am fascinated by a scuff on my left boot. Was that there this morning? I am too distracted by my boot to feel anything, let alone something inappropriate, like sadness.
Kyle turns to leave, but halfway to the door he stops. Silently, he puts the cross stitch on the sofa. He sighs, and his shoulders sag a little. He doesn't turn to look at me. Not yet.
Maybe I scuffed my boot when I tripped on the phone cord at work. I'm such a clutz.
A moment passes. It's long enough to contain ten lifetimes. Kyle turns to look at me. His jaw is set, At first I think he's angry, but then I meet his gaze, and I know better. Even after all this time, I know the language of his eyes.
He holds out his arms, and without hesitation, I step into them. I had forgotten how well I fit here, but my body hasn't. I nestle my cheek instinctively into his chest. His arms are firm around my shoulders, and my fists knot together behind his back. Relief washes over me. Regardless of the circumstances, regardless of everything we've been through, I am so happy to know that he's still in there somewhere: my Kyle.
We step back in unison, and just like that, the moment is over. A thousand thoughts begin to form, but I shut them down quickly. If I follow "How did we..." or "Why can't we..." through to their conclusion, I will slide into a place I can't crawl out of. I watch him walk away, and I choke on all the things I cannot say to this man who is not my husband.
When Kyle is gone I feel a familiar hollowness in the pit of my stomach. It is the same empty ache I have felt many times before. Now, curled onto my sofa with my feet tucked under me, I am shocked by this pain. I thought this would be different - more final, somehow. Or perhaps less difficult. But it isn't. It is a perfect reflection of the way I felt when he left for basic training, when he boarded the plane to travel to his post in Germany, and when he carried away bags for trips to the field. It doesn't feel any less potent, and, most of all, it doesn't feel like the end, even though I know in my heart that it should be.
---
When the sun slips in through the windows and wakes us, Ryan pulls me close and tugs a blanket over my shoulders. My mind flickers to the night before, a kiss in the dim television glow, and my cheeks flush. I grin up at him, wondering how it's possible to feel so happy after having been hurt so very much. And that's when I know how wrong I've been: This part of my life isn't an ending, after all. This is the beginning.
i do not have time to write a real comment because the baby is starting to breathe in a way that tells me he is going to wake up to eat any minute, but i will come back to do that. for now, let me just say that the sentence "I watch him walk away, and I choke on all the things I cannot say to this man who is not my husband." could have come right out of a best-seller.
ReplyDeleteFirst off, I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU HAVE A BABY. I am still in shock. I feel like we should both still be so young...but here we are in grown up lives. Anyway. I'm super happy for you! :)
DeleteSecond, thanks. <3
thank you! i know exactly what you mean. i still feel like i'm playing at being a grown-up most of the time. and i'm super happy for you too, for not giving up, for going though something awful and coming out stronger on the other side.
DeleteI love your writing -- it comes from the most authentic place Carrie. You survived! And you are thriving. And that is living.
ReplyDelete